Take my blood and frozen breath
I no longer have need for either
Take my pale skin and skull
Lay me high upon the funeral pyre
I had lost my voice some time ago
I no longer need to feel
Without you here to hold my hand
I can't understand what's real
My heart would make a fine meal, indeed
You can eat it raw or blackened
Grind my bones up into a bread
They'll never know what happened
I have enough fat to make a good stew
And feed you well one last time
I've tried and I've tried, and I can't fix your heart
So I'll make you a supper sublime
My brain would make a fantastic dessert
Something so rare and divine
And once your belly is completely full
I'll forget that you were ever mine
Not my best, not even my better, but I still like it very much.
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This heart was bequeathed darkness, and thus it became
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